On the Doorstep - Stretford 1958

Stretford, 1958, me, my mum, my nanna and my great grandmother, Nanna Polly grouped together for a family photograph on the doorstep of Nanna Polly’s house. I can remember being shuffled about to place everyone exactly right, and wearing my beautiful dress made by my other nanna. Our four generations, never to happen again, which makes the photograph all the more special.  Nanna Polly passed away the following year then ten years later my mum died which broke the links in the chain.

It has been a year of everything being placed on our doorstep, quite literally.  On a personal level, Covid 19 changed the way we live and the way we shop. We’ve done grocery shopping online for years. This has increased to the, butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, or that’s how it sometimes seems.

The first lockdown brought me fear and worry as we stayed at home, shielding from the outside world. One day, there was a wonderful surprise that started with a message from our niece.

“I bet you a million pounds there’s a shoebox outside your front door.”

What? Of course, I went to look. On the doorstep was a shoebox, with a note wishing us well and hoping we enjoy the contents. It was jam packed – including jam – with all the tasty goodies to put together an afternoon tea with lots of extra treats.

I was overwhelmed. Our niece, a busy NHS frontline worker, adored by us all, had gone to such trouble to make us this fantastic gift which was very welcome. I didn’t see her or hear her drive away. What a special lady, our angel. I think she made one for her mum, too. If you’re reading this, Jo, we salute you.

Good old Amazon, I couldn’t have managed Christmas without you. Day after day, another parcel delivered and placed on the doorstep as I organised gifts for the family and planned some sort of socially distanced Christmas Dinner at our house.

I’m the only survivor of my four generations.  I’m in awe of the strength of character my nanna and great grandmother must have had to endure two world wars and all the hardship and heart break that life threw at them. Both of them lost children in infancy. My great grandmother was only twenty-seven when she was widowed and lost her five year old daughter all within a fortnight.  I’m proud to be standing on that doorstep, surrounded by their love. I hope they’ve passed some of their northern grit down to me.

I found this poem by Thomas Hardy,

On the Doorstep
The rain imprinted the step’s wet shine
With target-circles that quivered and crossed
As I was leaving this porch of mine;
When from within there swelled and paused
A song’s sweet note;
And back I turned, and thought,
“Here I’ll abide.”

The step shines wet beneath the rain,
Which prints its circles as heretofore;
I watch them from the porch again,
But no song-notes within the door
Now call to me
To shun the dripping lea
And forth I stride.

Thomas Hardy, written in January, 1914 – and I wanted to add, ‘Yep, out you go!’

(If you remember the photo, apologies for using it again, though it was ages ago.)

Thanks for reading, stay safe, Pam x

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Is this your pen?

It seems unfair for me to argue that pens are mightier than swords.  In quoting a slightly ridiculous phrase that's sullying click-bait articles across the internet at the moment, I think I need to 'check my privilege'.  Sure, I could argue that swords destroy life but it takes a pen to write a peace treaty.  I could refer to the limited damage which one sword can inflict compared to the thousands of minds which carefully chosen words can affect.  But honestly, who uses swords anymore? 

I know almost nothing about swords.  In my mind they are equated with pointy things that fall from the ceiling, a story about a boy who succeeded in life by hanging around with an old man and tugging on any stiff protrusions he happened upon, and the thing that Buffy used to kill Angel in an episode of Buffy which I'm told wasn't as sad as the one in which her mum died (I still contend that the first is more tragic because she had to kill her lover and stare into his eyes as he woke up from his murdery face wondering why she'd hurt him).

Presumably, if I were in a combat situation, and assuming I had the first clue about swordsmanship, I would be somewhat disheartened to find a Bic in my sheath.  Obviously Joe Pesci is the exception to this scenario.  Mafia psychopaths aside, swords were quite useful on the 16th century battlefield. They are somewhat overshadowed by the emergence of drones, but then my clean pants are somewhat overshadowed by drones.  Drones are the stuff of nightmares.

Without entering into the debate on whether pens are still necessary in the age of the iPad, the statement 'the keyboard is mightier than the drone' is a more fitting modern equivalent.  Both have an element of detachment and both are capable of remote harm which can dispense with the ickiness of facing those whom we insult/murder.  Words entered on a keyboard might have the illusion of power but do they have a real effect? 

Words fly across the internet and reveal the damage which the drones inflict.  We might enter horrified comments below an article.  Meanwhile, the drones continue on their cowardly missions, controlled, no doubt, by keyboard commands.  This leads me to surmise that it's not about pens or keyboards and it's not about swords or drones.  It's about inclination and humanity.  It's about that pernicious little comparative: mightier. 

Might is equivalent to power.  Power suggests imbalance.  It means winning more, having more, knowing more than the other side.  Power is wealth.  It's land, cars, trophies - in some places this includes women.  Power, as we know, corrupts. Power always diminishes the 'other'. 

Like I said, I don't really know about swords but I do know how to use a pen.  My pen is an extension of my thoughts, and capable of creating a window into my mind.  I want to use it to show you the discoveries I make, not mean observations and judgements.  Occasionally I'll slip up because I'm human.  Fortunately, as I'm not Joe Pesci, this almost certainly won't result in a fatality.

On a completely unrelated topic, the image at the top is the original Cheetara from Thundercats.  I caught an episode of the new series this week.  The image below is the new Cheetara.  Isn't it a relief that she's finally had the breast implants?  I used to worry about her ability to fight Mumm-Ra with those average-sized boobs but now she can distract him easily in combat.  Thanks for the sensitive alteration animators!

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